Page 41 of The Vagabond

MAXINE

T he man adjusts the cuffs of his tailored coat like this is a meeting, not the scene of my imprisonment. His eyes are cold and empty as he regards me.

“Well,” he purrs, smooth as sin, “the golden goose returns.”

I say nothing. My throat’s raw, dry.

Hatred howls so loud inside me it drowns everything else.

My vision sharpens, the pit in my gut hardening into something cold, jagged, lethal.

He lingers beside me, voice slick with mock affection, like a knife tracing skin.

“You’ve caused quite the stir, Maxine. We thought you’d learned your place after Kadri.”

I hold his stare. Unblinking. I refuse to look away.

“What do you want?” I ask, my voice raspy.

A smile creeps across his face like a stain. “You were one of our finest investments. Went for a record price. You should be proud.”

Pride. That word burns in my ears. I swallow back the bile in my throat. Not one of my finest moments, I want to tell him. I curl my lip and spit the blood at his feet—the tang of Zack’s ear still coating my tongue like poison.

“What do you want?” I repeat.

“Ah,” he says. “The Feds came knocking on your door. And you should know that we don’t like loose ends, Maxine,” he says, standing again.

“You should have disappeared quietly. Faded into whatever sad little life you could scrape together after you escaped. Yet…” He waves a hand in the air.

“Look at you—back in the city like a goddamn siren, begging for chaos to find you.”

I swallow the burn rising in my throat. He thinks I’m the same girl they broke. The same body they passed around and branded with silence. But he has no idea who I’ve become since then. No idea that pain like mine doesn’t just sit in the dark—it evolves. Sharpens. Grows in resentment.

He talks like he’s the storm, and his threats are thunder.

But all I hear is his fear. A man grasping at control that’s slipping through his fingers.

The Feds are closer than ever to dismantling the Aviary.

He wants me to shrink. To beg. To play the part of the good little ghost girl who disappeared like she was supposed to.

But I’ve tasted freedom. I’ve felt love in the arms of a man who would burn the world for me.

I’ve crawled back from the edge more times than I can count. And I’ll do it again.

He may have dragged me back into the dark—but I didn’t come alone. I came ready.

“You’re scared,” I whisper. “Big men with small dicks and smaller consciences. All of this,” I tug at my restraints, “because you’re terrified of a girl who’s found her voice.”

His eyes darken. He moves fast. The back of his hand cracks across my cheek with a sharp snap, the force rocking my head to the side.

Pain blossoms through my jaw. Copper floods my mouth again.

I taste blood. I taste rage. But I don’t cry or scream.

Instead, I smile. Because that’s what breaks them, more than anything. The refusal to shatter .

“I see you’ve changed,” he mutters, almost to himself. “You’ve developed a bit of an attitude.”

“I survived you,” I say. “That’s more than most can say.”

He steps closer, fingers wrapping around the back of the chair as he leans in, breath hot against my face.

“You won’t survive a second time.”

I stare straight through him. He holds my gaze for a moment too long, jaw tightening. I know I won’t survive a second time. “It won’t come to that. Because if it’s between chains or the grave, I’ll dig my own damn hole and climb in smiling.”

“You’re home now,” he murmurs, voice low, almost tender. “Time to remember the rules. What happens to girls who think they can slip the leash.”

His head tilts, that slow, spreading smile like a disease eating through flesh.

“We’re going to break you all over again…”

He leans in, breath hot and foul.

“Then we’ll sell you back out — maybe throw the boys a discount this time.”

My pulse hammers, brutal and fast — but I cage the fear, bury it deep. Let them see the fire instead. Let them choke on it.

I’m not that girl anymore. Not the one who shattered under hands that didn’t care if she lived or died.

I’m Maxine Andrade. And I don’t just survive — I endure .

The way he smiles at me guts me—vile and deliberate, a twisted smirk that makes my skin crawl and every instinct scream. He paces once, slow and deliberate, then crouches in front of me. His eyes trail over me like he’s scanning a blueprint for weaknesses.

“You were always too pretty for your own good,” he says, almost conversationally. “That mouth. Those eyes. Altin had a taste for delicate, precious things.”

My stomach twists, but I don’t respond .

“You know, I liked Kadri,” he continues, like he’s reminiscing over an old war buddy. “Not because he was smart. He wasn’t. But he was useful. He had vision.”

He leans closer. His minty breath is warm.

“And he broke you beautifully.”

I grit my teeth. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t give him the satisfaction.

“You were his favorite for a while, weren’t you?” His voice drops, almost a whisper. “Tell me, Maxine... do you ever miss your Master?”

I spit in his face. Without flinching, he pulls a handkerchief from his coat pocket and wipes himself clean with the patience of a surgeon. Then he slaps me again. Hard. Pain flashes white behind my eyes. My head jerks sideways. The sting crawls across my cheek like fire. I taste blood.

When I look back at him, he’s still smiling.

“You’ve spoken to the Feds.”

My silence is my answer. He nods like he expected it.

“I’m not here to stop you,” he says. “I’m just here to remind you of the rules of the world. Of the order of things.”

He stands slowly, then kicks the chair—just enough to rock me off-balance. Just enough to let me know he could tip me over and split my skull open if he wanted to.

“Killing Kadri didn’t end anything,” he says. “He was a pawn. A symbol, maybe, for people like you. Survivors. Whistleblowers. Victims.” He says the last word like it’s a punchline. “You thought you were free. You thought justice was coming.”

He kneels again, leveling his eyes with mine.

“You sweet, stupid girl.”

I clench my jaw so tight it aches. But he sees the flicker in my eyes. The crack. The one he’s been looking for.

“You didn’t really think the Aviary would go down that easily, did you? ”

My blood runs cold.

“It never died,” he hisses. “It adapted. It evolved. You think taking out a man like Kadri matters when we have generations of men like him ready to take his place?”

He leans in closer, and I can feel the weight of every sick truth he’s about to spill.

“We are in the bloodlines, Maxine. That’s what makes us unstoppable. Judges. Principals. Senators. Bishops. Even a prince or two. We don’t infiltrate power—we are power.”

I swallow hard. It feels like shards of glass going down.

“That’s why you’ll never win. That’s why your little rebellion will die with you—because we own the rules. We built the systems you’re trying to escape.”

He straightens, buttons his suit jacket, and for a second he looks like any other rich man walking Wall Street. Except this one trafficks human lives behind boardroom doors.

“Even now,” he says, “your name’s already on a new ledger. Someone very wealthy is coming for you, Maxine. And once he does? You’ll disappear. Quietly. Without a trace. For good, this time.”

My throat tightens. The chair digs into my spine. I want to scream.

He leans against the wall like this is just a casual conversation now.

“So I don’t mind telling you all this. I don’t mind showing you what’s beneath the surface. Because you’ll never get out again. Your body may survive. But you?” He points to his temple. “You won’t. I’ve seen what a cage does to a mind, Maxine. You’ll fold again. Worse than you did for Kadri.”

I stare at the floor so he can’t see the war happening behind my eyes. The fire Saxon lit. The fury I’ve cultivated like a weapon. He thinks I’ll fold. He doesn’t realize I’m already dead inside. He crosses the room and pauses at the stairs, like he’s not done making his point.

“You should’ve stayed away from the Feds,” he says, soft and smug. “But you didn’t. Now you’ll pay the price… and make me a very very rich man.”